Nap
by Saint Lucifer-The Damned
Summary: A little wandering moment of Brian and Michael.


_Nap_

_A/N: Here we are again! Well… there's honestly not much to say about this one. I started with a title and just had one direction to go with it, but I didn't like my first ending. It was only three pages long and it left something to be desired. Without knowing how I wanted it to end, I just started writing more, wandering through it and watching it unfold into something… odd. A few days ago I hit a wall with it, it was like they had locked me out! I didn't know where it was going and it seemed they did, so it was a tad frustrating that they wouldn't let me find out. I actually wanted to see what the ending to my own story was. Oh, but enough about my craziness. Here's the story and I hope you find something to like about it._

_Enjoy!_

_~SL_

Brian Kinney's life didn't leave much room to sleep.

He had late night guests to entertain, or a certain blond to keep an eye on. Most nights were filled with drinks at Woody's and dancing at Babylon with a healthy dose of poppers to keep him going. Each morning he woke up to his alarm to get to work, running his business was a fulltime job. Eight hours wasn't enough, sometimes twelve wasn't enough. There was always work to bring home to fiddle with and all he would run on at the office was caffeine and pure blinding creative brilliance. With his own strict policy of leaving all his treats outside the office, it was all he had to run on and he did it with perfection.

Still, it couldn't be helped. Eventually Brian's body broke down under the weight of sleep deprivation and it was usually on days like today, a weekend afternoon where he had been up the night before, kicked out the latest trick and realized it took longer than usual to get ready. Those hazy, slow motions of showering and dressing, and then tinkering on projects for work before meeting up with the boys at the diner for lunch like they always did.

That was when it hit him like a Mac-truck. Lounging in the booth next to Michael, slumping up against the wall and forgetting his food halfway through, nodding absently at conversation behind sunglasses. They probably thought he was hung-over, Brian didn't give a fuck. They didn't know what it could be like to live the life he did. He just thanked whatever it was every day for the skin care regime he held himself to, even if it cost a bundle and then some. It certainly helped keep him feeling good, if not looking good during the worst of times like now.

Brian knew it was time when he almost nodded off before the checks came, when he slapped down the first bill he snagged in his wallet and stumbled his way through the haze out to his Jeep and drove himself home. He was a good driver, no matter what. He would need a calculator to find out how many times he had driven under the influence of a list of things, and there had never been a problem yet. Sleep was almost like a drug, it seemed to affect you the same way when you didn't get enough of it. Too bad it wasn't as much fun.

It took a lot to keep on his feet on the lift up to the loft. It was more energy than he thought to lift up the wooden gate, even more to slide open his oversized metal door and push it shut again. Brian stared down his security system with blurred eyes behind dark lenses, as if daring it, making it prove its worth to turn it on.

The security system lost as Brian shed his jacket and meandered away from the door, tossing the article over the back of his couch. Swift fingers unbuttoned his shirt, pulling his arms back to let it fall to the floor when he paused to kick off his shoes. The tank t-shirt he wore under it was peeled off him and thrown aside as he made his way up the short steps to his raised bed. He undid the belt, parting the material of his jeans with a tug of the zipper. Standing at the side of the bed, he pushed the jeans down into a pool at his feet and stepped out of them and flopped over into the bed in just the plain boxer briefs he wore for the day. He was out like a light.

These days, well, these days were magic. It was just one of those quirks that most people didn't understand. While Brian was sprawled out on the bed, dead to the world, the metal door sliding open and shut went unnoticed. The quiet sound of electronic beeping as the security alarm was set. Brian muttered softly and turned over on his back as the large window in the loft was covered up by the shades, effectively drowning out all light from the place. There was the soft sucking sound of the fridge being opened and the jangle of bottles being moved and the door being shut. The snap of a water bottle being opened and the quiet shuffle of feet walking towards the bedroom.

Michael smiled, catching sight of his best friend laid out flat and passed out cold. He walked up the steps and shut the panel doors to the bedroom, darkening it further behind opaque glass. He toed off his shoes and set the recapped water bottle down on the bedside table farthest from Brian. The he sat on the wood border around the bed and shimmied out of his pants, letting them fall to the floor before going around to Brian's side. He hadn't even tucked himself in. Michael molded the sleep heavy limbs into a comfortable position and tugged the covers out from under the prone body and over it. Michael was already catching a bit of a chill in his drawers, even with his shirt still on.

He went around to the free side of the bed and slid under the sheets, sidling up to Brian's side, curling his arms around his friend as best he could. Most people would probably think that Brian would be the one to do the holding, to keep protecting him even in sleep. To hold him safely in his dreams. Sometimes, sure, sometimes Brian did that for him. But most of the time it was the other way around. Michael pressed a kiss to Brian's temple and smiled as he watched the eyes flutter under the lids and the rise and fall of the broad chest deepen evenly. One hand would pet a line from Brian's shoulder to his hip, just enjoying the simple act of skin brushing skin.

Michael is reminded of other times like this as he watches Brian relax into a deeper sleep. He is reminded of the first time Brian has found his way into Michael's Captain Astro bed sheets, sniffling quietly as Michael held him close, trying to love away all the bruises he came in with. Trying to sober him up from the pilfered alcohol he'd taken to dull the pain with hugs and a gentle hand soothing his back. Michael hadn't said a word to him, just held him until he fell asleep in the dark. He remembers the times Brian would stumble into his apartment in the middle of the night, sometimes clinging to an empty bottle of Jim Bean that Michael would have to lift from his grasp as he sat his friend down on his bed, listening to him cry softly in the night muttering 'Sonny boy' this and 'Sonny boy' that, telling Michael that Brian had gone to see his father, probably to give Jack his monthly allowance. Somehow, still trying to find that love from his father, now trying to buy it... but it never came.

He's not upset at these things, these old memories, war wounds of growing up. Michael is anything but upset. Right now he's just here to be and let Brian be. To have a moment of quiet solace that they didn't get very often anymore. Pizza and movies were great, but this was somewhat of a bonding moment beyond reciting lines back to one another and stuffing their faces over their favorites. Michael wouldn't trade this, or any of these moments, for anything. And that thought helps him fall asleep, holding onto Brian while he dreams.

When Brian woke up a few hours later, he knew what to expect. The doors to the bedroom were closed, the entire loft was dark and the warm arms wrapped around him made him smile. The hold tightened when he shifted, but he didn't wake Michael up when he rolled over to face his best friend. Brian ran the knuckle of his index finger down the curve of a cheek and his smile grew when he saw Michael lean up towards the touch. The moment wasn't lost on Brian in the least. But where Michael remembered the times Brian had come in need of his friend, Brian recalled the better moments. Waking up next to Michael like this. How he'd given Mikey his first kiss to wake up to, surprise in those deep brown eyes and something hidden. How, like right now, Brian had slipped a thigh between Mikey's legs feeling that erection poke him, searing hot on his bare skin even encased in the thin material of his underwear and rocked his leg gently, pushing him awake.

Brian secretly loved these moments, even though he frowned, thinking of the first time he had done this. He woke up hung-over in Michael's bed, his chest hurt, his back, stomach all pounded by drunken fists. His heart, though. His heart ached and he didn't know why. He was confused and in pain and no one had answers. No one could tell him why Jack drank so much he couldn't see straight, or why his mom looked away when he started cursing at Brian, why she just flipped another page in her book and didn't even leave the room when Jack started raining down blows on him. He woken up and saw Michael and that bullshit cliché manner with the sun shining on his calm face, making him look younger than he already was (a trait Michael never grew out of). Brian was pissed when he thought of those brown eyes opening to see his face and smile. He was so goddamn innocent, so untouched by the world. Brian wanted to smear that. It didn't matter that he had always vowed to take care of Mikey, he decided this was the best way to take care of him.

The way Brian had used his leg to get Michael to moan softly in his sleep, not yet waking up. How his friend subconsciously held him tighter and rode out the motion in little jerks of his hips, easily losing control and wake up just a few seconds before making a mess in his boxers. Brian squelched any questions from his friend and filled those innocent eyes right up with surprise as he kissed Mikey, hard. He was demanding. He wanted entrance, he wanted what Michael had. He wanted that innocence for himself, he wanted to be the one to take it away. Pushing Michael on his back, he was half way there until Brian felt that wetness pressed against his cheek and he lost steam. He pulled away and stared down at his friend, his best friend, who was crying silently as he stared up at Brian. Brian, who was supposed to protect him. Brian, who was supposed to love him unconditionally, no questions, no regrets. Brian... who wasn't supposed to hurt him, but Michael had known his intentions had not been out of love. Michael always knew what Brian was up to.

Brian froze, absolutely horrified at what he'd done. He pulled Mikey back into his arms shushing him and rubbing his back, petting the tussled black hair, rocking him awkwardly as they lay side by side. God, he hated himself. He wanted to apologize, but he didn't do that. He knew Michael understood that he was sorry, he never meant to hurt him. Brian never pushed him again, not like that. Never with malice, never with the idea that he wanted someone just as miserable as he was. Brian knew he went too far and promised he'd never do it again.

He kept to it, because right now was just innocent fun between two long time friends. Brian knew Mikey would be embarrassed, even in his sleep he was blushing as he bit his bottom lip, moaning breathlessly as he squirmed under slight ministrations. Brian knew when to stop. Brian knew when to pull back, remove his leg and whisper into Mikey's ear that it was time to wake up. They had things to do. Tonight was Woody's and then Babylon, but Brian wanted takeout and movies before then, maybe tinkering on a few presentations for Monday while Michael tried to help him. Michael was panting, hot against his neck and Brian chuckled, tugging gently on his friend's earlobe with his teeth.

Michael woke up gasping, hot... too hot and achingly hard and it took a moment to realize he was in Brian's bed and this shouldn't be such a surprise, but it always was. Every single time. There was that moment of confusion when he looked at Brian, that questioning 'Why?' in his eyes to Brian's smile and for a minute, each time, Brian would falter, wishing he could come up with an answer. He didn't know why, he couldn't help himself. He was a relentless tease to Mikey's innocent ways, even though at this age he was far from innocent.

Brian regained himself, blinked, smiled and lifted and eyebrow suggestively like he always did. Michael took a deep breath, closed his eyes to collect himself and smiled back when he opened them again, shoving Brian away. Brian leaned in to tickle Mikey and the bed became nothing but tangles sheets and kicking legs and squirming bodies. And for a moment, they were both back to the way they had been years ago. Nothing between them, no other lives but the one they shared together.

They couldn't go back to the way things were after this. Not right away. This was just a moment in time when they could pretend. Michael could pretend that Brian was just his, even though he never had been. Brian could pretend that Michael would always be his Mikey and they would never grow up, not really. He would forever be Peter in a world that continued to grow old around him. Watching Mikey, his face red from gasping, tears brimming at his eyes as he laughed hard Brian was laughing too, ignoring his friend's pleas to stop, stop! He'd be good, he promised, if only Brian would stop the torment. Eventually he did, falling back down on the bed next to Michael, smiling as he watched the rapid rise and fall of the other man's chest as he panted for air. Brian just kept himself propped up on an arm as Michael calmed himself down.

God, he was an asshole. Michael knew he was an asshole, but he loved him anyway. With a wakeup call like that his sides would hurt and he'd have blue balls for a week. He'd caught his breath though, wiping at his eyes to remove lingering tears from laughing so hard. Brian looked rested, finally. It was easy to see the other man wear down as time went on when you've known him as long as Michael had. But he looked great now, just a few hours and Brian looked ten times younger than he had at the diner. The dark circles had cleared up a bit (hey, sleep can only do so much for years of abuse), he was alert and smiling. That was the part Michael liked best. That was a real smile, not one of Brian's guarded ones, or one that he had to put on out in public. People would probably be surprised at how much Brian hid from them, even with smallest of gestures.

"Hey Mikey… you've got a woody," Brian said suggestively as he got up and settled himself lightly on the smaller man, hands resting on the bed by Michael's head.

Michael rolled his eyes. "I do not, but if you keep it up I might."

Brian winked. "I could do something about it."

"C'mon, get off," he said, laughing as he tried to sit up. Brian leaned down and touched their foreheads together. Michael smiled up at Brian, looking at him through his lashes. Brian really could be a sentimental bastard if you caught him at the right moment, and never told him he was. "Seriously, I gotta get home to shower and change for tonight."

"Ew," Brian said, making a face. "You got into my bed while you were all gross?"

"No, Brian, I didn't not get into your bed while I was 'all gross'. But you're like a furnace between the sheets," Michael explained. "I got a little warmed up."

"I'm more than that between the sheets, Mikey," his friend said as he cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, not for me you're not. Now off! I need a shower."

Brian rolled of his friend and landed at his side with a soft thump on the sheets, staring up at the ceiling. It was dark in the room, still. The lights were off in the entire place and he felt Michael start getting out of bed, collecting his discarded jeans and sneakers. Brian was able to hear the shuffling as he pulled on the jeans, the sharp zip from the crotch and felt the bed dip near his head when Michael sat down again.

"I wanted to order in and watch movies before we went out," Brian said absently. "You could wear something of mine, y'know. I've got a shower here. You don't have to leave yet."

"Brian, I've been here since one in the afternoon, it's going on five," Michael said patiently. "How much more time do you need with me?"

"Well… I wasn't awake when you were here," Brian insisted, rolling onto his stomach. "C'mon, Mikey. I've got Batman Begins. We can drool over Christian Bale with Chinese and lay around."

"I guess I can go in this," Michael said, contemplating and Brian smiled. He won. Mikey wasn't going anywhere.

"Nah, I got something you can wear. You'll be hotter than you are now," he teased, rolling out of bed and heading to the bathroom. "Call the Chinese place and get whatever. Wallet's on the counter… or still in my pants."

Michael got up and turned on the lights first, the blue glow falling over the room. He still couldn't figure out why Brian needed blue lights in his room. It wasn't that much better than being in the dark, honestly. He found the discarded pants and dug through the pockets, finding the wallet. Brian had been really tired to forget part of his usual routine. Wallet in hand he left the bedroom, turning on lights as he went. Much better now that you could see a hand in front of your face. Taking up the phone, he called and placed their usual order and went searching through the movies before finding Batman Begins and leaving it on the coffee table as Brian walked out of the bedroom in jeans, button open at the top.

"It's all yours, Mikey," he said, coming down the steps, damp towel wrapped around his shoulders.

Michael smiled over at him, picking the jacket up from the back of the couch where Brian had tossed it on his stumble to the bedroom. "Thanks. Hey, mind if I borrow some sweatpants or something until we get ready to go out?"

He really didn't feel like slumming it in his jeans. It was always weird to put on clothes he had worn already after a shower. Brian nodded, waving a hand towards the bedroom. Michael knew where everything was and never told anyone anything about the fact that he actually owned sweatpants. He wouldn't… no, couldn't be caught dead in them. At the gym it was shorts, show off as much as you could get away with. At home it was nothing or the usual styles he wore out for the night, something to lure in a trick and keep him in bed. But he did have a secret stash of sweatpants, soft and old, that he'd never had the heart to get rid of. He wore them on days when he was sick and no one knew or would stop by or when he had absolutely nothing to do and nowhere to go and he wanted it to stay that way. And, of course, for Mikey if he spent the night, too drunk or high to make it safely back home. They were too long on him, but it was so cute the way he had to roll them at the waist to fit him and they still made puddles at his feet.

But that was his Mikey, everything screamed cute with him.

Brian set the TV up and the food arrived as Michael wandered out of the shower, towel clutched around his waist. The delivery guy actually had the nerve to look around Brian to try and catch a glimpse of Mikey through the slats. Brian had stuffed a bill in his hand and dryly advised him to keep the change and his eyes in his head and shut the door as the kid continued to gawk. Fucking prick. He turned to place the bag on the counter and paused catching sight of his friend between the panels in the bedroom. Shamelessly, Michael had dropped the towel covering him and was scrubbing at his hair, blocking Brian's stare. Brian set the bag down and crossed the room to stand at the top of the stairs to the bedroom, not caring the he was openly ogling his best friend. Hey, they'd done it before, nothing to hide. But it was the slight intricacies of the muscles Michael kept hidden that fascinated Brian. In jeans and his two toned sweaters or superhero tees, you wouldn't be able to guess that everything on the smaller man was taut and simply defined under pale skin.

Michael left the towel over his head as he searched under the clothes on the bottom drawer of a small chest in the closet, finding a pair of faded black sweats. He shook his head back and let the towel fall around his neck as he stepped into them. Brian smiled watching his friend start rolling the waistline until they wouldn't fall off his hips and the smile grew as he saw that you couldn't even see Michael's feet from under the pant legs. Michael turned to the bed where he had dropped Brian's jacket to hang it up and jumped, clutching his chest as he saw Brian.

"Perv! You're not supposed to peek," Michael gasp, eyes still wide from shock.

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Better me than the delivery boy, Mikey."

Brian saw that blush spread across Michael's cheeks, light in comparison to other's he'd seen as Michael shook his head. "I didn't even know the food came. I wouldn't've started changing if I knew."

"Don't worry, I slammed the door in his face before you dropped trou… or towel," he said reassuringly. "Only I got the private show."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Michael asked in a huff, busying himself with hanging up the jacket in the closet.

"C'mon, you know it should," Brian said, eyes alight with mischief. "Only my eyes watching you, wet and naked… getting into my clothes…"

There was something so very desirable about seeing someone you loved in your clothing. It was like a mark of possession, Brian thought. Something you didn't let just any stranger do, it meant how comfortable and lived in someone could be if you saw them strutting around in a shirt or the odd pair of pajama pants. Even something as simple as secret sweatpants. Well, that was probably even more tempting about it. No one else _but_ Michael knew they existed, so it added just another level to it. Michael smiled tightly, fiddling with the jacket too long, trying to compose himself. Brian was in rare form tonight and he was getting the brunt of it. And it was torture. He was just glad the sweatpants were roomy enough to hide that fact. Michael pulled the towel from around his shoulders and tossed at Brian, who didn't see it coming as the damp cloth fell over his head.

"Mikey, you've got nothing to be embarrassed about," he said, pulling the towel off his head. "You're hot. Why else would anyone stare?"

Michael shrugged his shoulders. "Cause we're men and we think about sex all the time?"

"Ah, ah. _Gay _men," Brian corrected, breezing by Michael to toss the towel in the hamper in the bathroom. "And, occasionally, I think about other things."

Michael scoffed. "Oh, yeah right. What else would you think about it?"

"Mm… let's see," Brian paused to think about it. "Well, there's work."

"And you live by the motto 'sex sells'," Michael countered. Racy didn't begin to cover the ads Brian produced.

"Okay, well what about dancing?"

"Aren't you the one who told me you can tell how good someone is in bed by how they dance?"

"Fine. I think about movies!"

"Porn doesn't count."

"Who do you think I am, Theodore?"

"Well, you still have an impressive collection," Michael said lightly, finally feeling that he had the upper hand. Which was hard to do when it came to Brian.

"I was talking about the movie we were going to watch… but if you'd prefer porn," Brian said as he left the bedroom and shuffled through the movies on the shelf under the TV. "I've got _Voyeur _which is excellent, _Wet Shorts_ which is lacking in some areas but really picks up around the middle. There's also-"

"Enough, Brian," Michael said, covering his ears as he joined Brian in the living room. "You're trying to taint my innocent ways."

Brian choked out a laugh. "Mikey, there hasn't been anything innocent about you since you met me."

"I'm a good little Catholic boy," he sniffed, going to the kitchen counter and setting out the containers of food. "I don't know what you think I'd be doing."

"You sound like your mother. 'I'm a good Catholic girl'," Brian snorted, picking up a clicker to flip channels briefly. "Fuck God. Y'know, he's not worth a goddamn thing without us."

"Spare me your religious tirade," Michael said, rolling his eyes as he emptied the last of the bag. They always coated the bottom of the bag with those sauce packets. It was sort of annoying since they never used any and there were tons of them in their bright oranges and yellows and the occasional dark brown. He left them in the bag and crumpled it up to throw away.

"Hey, Brian," Michael called, Brian turned to look over at Michael questioningly. "When did they stop giving you chopsticks with your order?"

"Ah, shit, they started that awhile ago. You gotta mention it to them now to add them in," he said, coming into the kitchen and looking through drawers. He finally pulled out plastic ones and handed a pair to Michael. "I just said fuck it and keep some around now."

Michael made a noncommittal noise accepting the chopsticks and taking the cartons with his order out into the living room, setting them on the coffee table. Brian followed watching the shadows casted just underneath the pale skin of Michael's exposed back. The muscle moving without thought to what they did. He really was hot, Brian didn't lie. He stood by that. It's not a lie if they make you lie, and Brian wasn't made to lie often, if ever. But there was always this simple ease and complacency between them, Brian and Michael, that neither was willing to dwell on more than a spare thought. People had their own opinions about them, but no one really knew. People thrust Brian into these slots, these ideas of what he was or what he was supposed to be. And, well, it's not a lie if they make you lie, he'd fallen into them easily enough. But he always hated the ideals about Michael, continually putting him in some place he never belonged in. It pissed Brian off which led to some reckless nights, or as they liked to call them, adventures.

Michael has started the movie while Brian had dimmed the lights, taking a seat on the floor while Michael relaxed on the couch. Brian didn't like being too far away from a table if he was eating, just an odd habit of his. The dramatic music filled the room from surrounding speakers and Mikey tucked a leg under him as he stared at the screen unblinkingly as the story unfolded. Never mind that he had seen this movie more times than Brian could recall, or that he could repeat the lines in the movie by heart, which made Brian smile as he saw Michael's lips moving silently with the actors on screen. Michael was enraptured with the movie and Brian couldn't help but feel a sense of peace that wasn't often felt. He rested up against Michael's leg that hung off the couch, food demolished and empty containers strewn about the table.

As the movie came to a close and the credits rolled, Brian grunted as he got to his feet, leaning back to ease out the pops from stiff joints. The slight ache made him regret the choice of sitting on the floor for the entire movie, but Mikey had been so comfortable to lean on, he didn't want to move. It was just one of those things. They chalked a lot up to 'one of those things'. They didn't quite know what 'those things' were. Things they couldn't explain, maybe? Or maybe, things they did together without thought. Could it be that one of those things was this? This moment right here where Brian was looking at Michael and he looked right back and there was that jolt. That pure understanding, that everlasting look of love and that underlying spark of happiness, like Brian had just given him the world on a goddamn platter and Brian let himself fall into it and let his friend back in, in the same manner. Those hazel eyes showing usually nothing just lighting up at the idea that he'd made Michael so happy with so little. That it didn't take much. That… well, that maybe all it took was him. Maybe that was one of those things.

Neither Brian or Michael had wanted to break that easy connection, those lingering looks that spoke volumes. The ones that had people talking about them, the ones that had strangers pass by when they were in a moment and comment on what a lovely couple they made. Like that time in the park when they had Gus on a swing and a woman told them they made such a nice family. They did. They complimented each other and they knew it and worked it to their advantage when they had to, or when they wanted just a simple bond or a kind touch from each other. They were just that comfortable together that they fell into step at acting like they were a couple, sometimes they really felt like it without admitting it.

People would assume that Justin was the longest 'non-relationship relationship' that Brian had ever had. Those were the people that never looked twice at Mikey, not really. Even Brian acknowledged that if anything, after all his rants about not doing love and relationships, he been in a relationship since he was fourteen. One overflowing with love that saved his ass more times than he could count. It was willingly given and taken from both men. They came to each other as honest, shameless children. Curious, experienced, abused by the world in different ways. They came to each other and found what nothing else was able to give them: Comfort. Comfort, love and hope. Dear God, it was the hope that nearly killed Brian every time since they first met. Even Michael could succumb to pessimism from time to time, but more often than not he had the never ending flow of hope and optimism that could kill a man like Brian if he wasn't careful.

But it was easy to keep that feeling even as they looked away, half embarrassed, half fulfilled with that connection that expanded too long and felt too short. Brian wandered back towards the bedroom while Michael started cleaning up the leftovers on the table, methodically throwing out what was empty or didn't have enough left worth saving, and packing up the rest to store in the fridge. He took the liberty of checking the rest of Brian's leftovers, winding up tossing most of them out. The fridge was mostly used for storing beer, water and poppers. Not much thought was placed on food since Brian was out all the time. It bothered Michael, but that was the Italian in him. Everyone needed to be fed. Food was a staple in an Italian home and a well stocked fridge was a step towards that, where as the beer and constantly stocked bar was a testament to Brian's 'fighting Irish' side in the worst sense. Could've been worse, Michael thought. It could've been potatoes everywhere.

He chuckled to himself, shutting the fridge. It was silly, but it made him smile. Turning to wash his hands real quick, a little greasy from the containers, he was able to catch sight of Brian in his bedroom. Brian had a usual routine of dressing first, then discarding the first outfit and trying on others and others before, usually, coming back to the first outfit and then going into the bathroom for the next half hour if he felt like primping. Michael would teasingly think that Brian was worse than a woman when it came to getting ready, but saying it aloud might risk his well being. Michael turned off the faucet and dried his hands and joined Brian back in the bedroom, crawling into the bed and watching as Brian went from closet to mirror and back again switching out shirts. He seemed determined to make the black jeans work for him tonight, which Michael thought was perfect.

Brian glanced away from the mirror and over at Michael lounging on the bed while he watched him change. Brian was buttoning up a black silk short sleeved shirt. Running his hands down the front to smooth it, he turned to Michael and held his arms out to the side with a slight smile.

"Well?"

Michael looked him over and shook his head. "Too much. You'll die in the heat tonight."

"What do you think I should wear?" Brian asked, turning back to the mirror to debate on the outfit again himself.

"What about your sleeveless vest thing? The black one."

Brian thought about it before going back to the closet and pulling it off a hanger, tossing it on the bed and stripping off the shirt. He pulled on the vest and did the buttons, going back over to the mirror and looking himself over while Michael took in the sight with an appreciative eye. He liked that outfit best, more skin showing. If only Brian would do something with his hair. He had liked it better when it was shorter, but he'd let it grow out since then. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't Michael's preference. When he styled it back, though, it was actually nice.

"I like it," Michael said with a nod, rolling on his side and snuggling into the pillow. He felt like he could just go back to sleep, really. It was a lazy afternoon and he was full from dinner. His body told him that it was time to go to sleep again.

Brian nodded in agreement before looking over at the bed. "Mikey, c'mon, it's your turn."

"Five more minutes," Michael yawned, pulling the covers over him. The bed smelled like Brian and with the sheets over him he was cocooned in it as his eyes shut.

"In five minutes you could be dressed and we could be out the door."

"Yeah, is that before or after you spend half an hour in the bathroom fixing your hair?"

"Are you accusing me of something, Mikey?"

Michael snorted. "Of course not, Brian. Why don't you go do your hair –style it back, away from your face, by the way- and I'll be here when you're done and _then_ I'll get ready."

"You don't like my hair down? I thought it was hot," Brian muttered, looking back into the mirror at his reflection. He usually only fixed it up for work.

"I liked your shorter hair," Michael said. "This is nice, but I liked it out of the way. Don't listen to me. I'm sleepy."

"But you're so cute when you're sleepy, all tucked in my bed."

"So let me stay tucked in your bed while you finish up. Pick something out for me and leave it on the bed. I'll change into it when you wake me up," Michael murmured, curling up comfortably.

Brian shook his head and went into the bathroom to do his hair the way Michael suggested. It wasn't really a conscious choice, more like a subconsciously planted idea. If Michael said to do it, he tried. It would probably fall flat by the end of the night with the heat and trips to the backroom, but the idea of Mikey's eyes lighting up while they danced together and noticed that he'd fixed his hair the way he suggested was something he wanted to do. Before Brian got him high enough that his eyes sparkled nonstop the entire night under the pulsing lights. That was the fun part of the night for them. That made their connection tangible, drugs did that like magic. Made the intangible tangible. Something they could touch and hold onto for dear life like they did when they danced together, Michael chattering away a mile a minute while Brian tuned in to the music and the heat and fell into it head first.

When he finally got out of the bathroom it was almost nine and he saw Michael had rolled out onto his back, kicking the sheets off of him fitfully in his sleep. Like he warmed up too much even though Brian could see him getting cold again in a minute. He was relaxed, one hand shoved up under the pillow and the other resting on his stomach that rose and fell slowly in his sleep. Poor Mikey. All tuckered out and things to do. Brian picked up the discarded clothes he had tried on and took his time putting them away, letting Michael rest up as best he could before needing to wake him. When he turned back to the bed, deciding he could convince Michael into a black v-neck t-shirt he paused. Looked at the shirt in hand, then back at Michael on the bed. He decided to fuck it and let the shirt fall to the floor and stripped back down into his underwear and climbed into bed next to Michael after shutting off the lights. The shorter man responded to the dip in the bed by curling up to it in his sleep and Brian's arms went around him easily, resting a cheek on top of the dark head of hair.

Woody's and Babylon would be there another night, but it wasn't often that Brian Kinney's life left him with enough time to sleep.

_A/N: I liked this ending much better. Probably because I'm a 'coming full circle' kind of person or whatever. I'll be the first to admit this isn't my usual style. This feels… a little more jumbled, like I'm mixing them both in at once where as I feel like a lot of people keep them separate when they write them together. You clearly know where one begins and one ends. I don't really see them like that. They're kind of two halves to a whole to me, I would hope that's reflected a little here. Also, I'm not a fan of dialogue. I know it's necessary in almost every story with two characters. I mean, I couldn't keep going on with them awake without them saying something to each other, but I do try to avoid it where I can because it's so hard to get it right with well known characters without feeling like parts are overdone, words are overused or I'm just not… hitting the right chord, so to speak. It's frustrating to me._

_I personally did enjoy writing Brian's wake up scene with Michael, going back and forth between a slight past and present. Confusing, but oddly satisfying for me. While I like the fact that people stick to the ideal of Brian being a constant do no serious wrong defender when they're kids, well… we all snap sometimes. And that was what I was going for, personally. I don't know about you, but there's some truth to 'misery loves company' and I'm sure Brian's felt that way more than once. I like Michael's falling asleep scene with the same past and present flow, too. It's just… comforting I guess is how I would put it._

_I have a feeling some people might find the conversation when they wake up a little out of character for Brian, but I recall the epic kidnapping of Michael to take him to the Underwear Party. The childish way he snuck up on Mikey and the way he laughed and jumped up saying 'Gotcha!' That's kind of what I was going for. Brian can forget himself, too, y'know?_

_Ah, but enough explaining myself. You're bored with me. I guess I'm still feeling the two of them out, trying to find a good moment before I move on to something big and epic and definitely a little more dirty, I swear. But this had an intimacy to it that was hard to ignore._

_Well, reviews are welcomed if you've got anything to say!_

_~SL_


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